


Missed Me

by PlaidAdder



Series: Wild About Harry [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 04:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9368615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaidAdder/pseuds/PlaidAdder
Summary: After "The Final Problem," Harry Watson says goodbye.*****This was the only "fix-it" for series 4 that I could write, at the time. It has since been superseded by"Christmas Time After Time,"but I'm keeping it up because people seemed to like it.





	

John wondered how many of these padded envelopes Mary had prepared, before…before what he was calling, in his own mind, the Appointment in Samarra now. Sherlock had been unable to find out how they were being posted, or where from. Even Mycroft was at a loss, which John found less surprising now than he would have a year ago.

First “Miss Me,” sent to Sherlock. Then “Miss You,” sent to him. Each padded envelope enclosing a DVD, with a plain label, on which two words were written, one of which was “Miss.”

John felt the sting in his eyes, of course, as he opened the envelope in his living room. A tiny voice in his head did wonder what this one would be titled. “Miss Y'All?” “Miss Understood?”

In fact, this one also had two words written on it in Sharpie. The handwriting seemed different to him, but who knew. He wasn’t much of a judge. He’d show it to Sherlock.

Sherlock, once summoned, arrived reasonably quickly, though John did have time to feed and change Rosie and put her to bed. John never got tired of seeing him on the doorstep, peering into the suburban domesticity as if–every time–he saw himself as commencing a reconnaissance mission behind enemy lines.

“Show me,” he said, stepping in.

John handed him the DVD. Sherlock looked at the letters spelling out “MISSED ME.”

“It’s not Mary’s,” Sherlock announced, after a cursory glance.

“I didn’t think–”

“It’s not Eurus’s either.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You never read my blog post about handwriting and heredity, did you?”

John just laughed.

“Myself, Mycroft, and Eurus all share certain characteristics when it comes to handwriting which would be extremely difficult to camouflage even when intentionally making the print as generic as possible, as this correspondent has.”

“So it’s a mystery, then.”

“No, John,” said Sherlock, handing the DVD back to him. “It’s not a mystery. It’s a woman.”

John took the DVD and walked over to the media console. “Well that narrows it down.”

“It’s a woman who’s related to you, John.”

John froze.

“It can’t be your mother, of course.”

John winced as the memory of the funeral came back to him. “Of course,” he repeated, trying not to grip the disc too hard.

“Can’t be an aunt, she’d have looked in on you by now. No grandparents living.”

“They aren’t, but how do you–”

“Rosie, lamentably, is unable to form capital letters with this degree of skill.”

“Sherlock, she’s eleven months old.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Who is it then?”

“Well, we’ve eliminated the impossible,” Sherlock said.

“Whatever remains, however improbable…?” John began, trailing off hopefully.

“Whatever remains will undoubtedly manifest once we insert the disc and press ‘play,’ John.”

“Right.”

John inserted the disc, then took the necessary remotes to sit next to Sherlock on the sofa.

“Is this thing on? Testing, testing.”

The screen was black. The voice coming through was low, but John was pretty sure it was a woman’s. There was something about the inflection of the voice, too, that reminded him somehow of his mother. Sherlock became impatient.

“You’ve obviously not clicked on the video–” he called out at the screen

“–ah, enable video, there we go.”

Click.

The woman on the screen had short, brown hair, longer and curlier on the top than on the sides. She wore glasses with dark oblong frames, and from the shoulders up at least it looked as if she were wearing a charcoal-gray suit. About his age, he should think, or a bit older. Something odd about the face, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Gay,” said Sherlock.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Female. Short hair. Mannish silhouette. No makeup. Gay.”

“Yes, let’s remember you said the same about Moriarty and–”

“And I was absolutely right.”

John let out an exasperated sigh. The woman on the screen began to speak.

“Well. Yes. This is awkward. I mean this recorded message business would be awkward even without all the…special…”

John could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Sherlock’s attention was riveted on the screen. And yet, he also had the sneaking suspicion that some of that attention was sidling over toward him.

The woman on the screen cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Hello John,” she said. “It’s Harry.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. He felt his lips repeating, soundlessly, Harry?

“Who the hell–”

Sherlock waved at him to shush. John subsided, not without some side-eye.

“This is difficult, because I…I don’t know what you remember about me. I don’t know actually if you remember me at all.”

“I don’t,” John replied.

“The doctor told me that…well, it’s a bit technical, but he thinks my timeline has been meddled with too often and it’s…terminally corrupted.”

“Do *you* know what this woman is talking about?” John demanded, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock was staring at the screen and he looked nearly as lost as he had looked back at Sherrinford. He shook his head, slightly.

“I know…I know I’ve lost at least ten years of it, so…Rachel won’t…”

The woman on the screen stopped talking and swallowed something.

“What I mean is…please give your daughter a hug for me. And I’m…sorry about Mary. I’m sorry she’s lost and I’m…I’m sorry I’m not there.”

“This is Eurus,” John said, suddenly.

“No, no,” Sherlock murmured. “It can't be.”

“This is Eurus in disguise. Who else could it be?”

“It’s not her.”

“Are you sure? Because you met Eurus as two different people and didn’t figure out that they were the same. I don’t think you’re very good at–”

“HUSH!”

Sherlock paused it and went back a few frames, then restarted.

“I’ve been given to understand that the corruption may go…much farther back than that.”

The woman on the screen stopped. She closed her eyes. A hand reached out and the screen went blank.

It resumed. The woman on the screen was smiling, but not convincingly.

“Well. Whatever it is, it can’t be helped. I’m doing this because I’ve reason to believe, John, that I’ll never see you again, and I just wanted to say…”

“This is definitely Eurus,” John said.

“John!” Sherlock snapped. “This is not MY sister. It is YOUR SISTER.”

John froze. So did the image on the screen. Sherlock had stopped it.

“I don’t have a sister,” John whispered, bewildered and terrified.

“You obviously have one, John, you simply don’t remember her. And if experience is any guide, she will be a thousand times smarter and more violent than you are–”

“More violent than _I_ am?” John demanded, springing off the couch.

“Do not imagine that my ribs have yet unbruised themselves, John, no matter how spry I may seem.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’ve said I’m–”

“You haven’t, but no matter. The salient point here is, John, she has undoubtedly been plotting against us from the beginning and we need to deduce everything we can from this missive. Now sit down and keep still.”

John resumed his seat, fuming. Sherlock pressed play.

“I just wanted to say…”

The woman stopped and looked at the screen.

“I love you, John.”

John blinked.

“I’m not perfect and never was but I love you. And Sherlock loves you too. He may never say it but it’s true.”

John and Sherlock kept their eyes on the screen, desperately not looking at each other.

“Just know that, John. You were–you are–loved. Just please know that.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered.

“Shut up, Sherlock,” John hissed.

“John, the day I met you…I borrowed your phone…”

“And I’m…I’m all right. It’s not how I wanted it to be but it’s all right. This happens. Time is in flux and people who should belong to each other…they miss each other. So many times it worked out and we found each other but this time you missed me.”

Sherlock was on his feet and running to the still-unpacked boxes under the living room windows. John got to his feet, slowly, staring at the screen.

“Here!” Sherlock had fished something out of one of the boxes and was brandishing it at the screen. “I found it! It’s here! Don’t hang up!”

The woman on the screen took a small, tight breath. 

“Say goodbye to Sherlock for me,” said the woman on the screen. “And hang on to him, John. Time is in flux and you don’t know what’s going to un-happen. You just don’t know.”

“Harry Watson, don’t you dare–” Sherlock shouted, frantically waving the phone.

The screen went dark.

“Play it again,” Sherlock said.

John pressed the buttons. The screen turned blue.

Then the words “NO DISC” appeared on it.

“No, no no no no NO!!!” Sherlock shouted. He flung himself at the DVD player. The tray came out. There was nothing in it. Sherlock gave it a kick and a curse. He turned to John, thrusting out a hand in which he thought he could see some kind of shiny metal object.

“The phone, John!” Sherlock said, with an urgency John could not understand at all. “The phone. To Harry from Clara. You remember. Not a brother. Not a brother, but a…”

Sherlock trailed off. The mad light left his eyes. He and John slowly looked down at Sherlock’s outstretched, grasping, empty hand.

“Did you…” John said, slowly. “You said something about a…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was almost certain that Sherlock had been holding something very precious, very important, a moment ago. But now it was gone.

“Something about what, John?” Sherlock said, slowly. “Think. Please think. I believe it was important.”

“I know, so do I, but…”

Nothing came to mind. Nothing.

“There was something…important…I was to remember,” John said, vaguely. “There was something…someone…”

He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at him.

“I can’t remember,” Sherlock breathed. “At least…I can only remember…”

John felt himself take a step closer to Sherlock, though he wasn’t sure why.

“You are loved,” Sherlock said.

John shook his head. “I am loved?” He laughed.

Sherlock laughed too. John felt Sherlock’s fingers grip his shoulders. It seemed so strange. And then again it seemed so natural.

“I love you,” Sherlock said.

John didn’t say anything. At this moment, he knew from Mary and from Sarah and from all the women before him, you don’t say anything. You just close your eyes and lean in. And your heart opens up as you know, at that moment, that you’ve always known all along.

THE END


End file.
